Good, Better, Best
by ContrabandKissing
Summary: These two people have molded their careers using extraordinary writing, beautiful wording, and stunning displays of verbal acuity. Their art has brought them together twice before. Is the third time the charm? Set post-university. M for sexual content and language.
1. Chapter 1

**A recent venture of mine. This is rated M for a reason – hint? The sex. **

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi, or the Charlatan – that really does belong to Carleton University. The Daily Apple Accent is a byproduct of my imagination, though, which is why the name sucks so hard. **_

**Enjoy.**

"What's it like? I need to know, Clare; I'm trying to live vicariously through you."

"What's there to tell?" I sighed into my phone. I had only been in my new apartment for one day and Alli was already pressing for the latest buzz.

An eager beaver, that one.

"Well, that's just not exciting," she pouted. "When do you start at the paper?"

I toed off my shoes and sat cross-legged on my couch – the only piece of furniture that was assembled in my bland, new-to-me home. "I have to be there in three hours for a meet-the-team kind of thing. Then I'm discussing my first story with my editor, but aside from that, I'm pretty sure my first day in my own office will be Monday."

"I can't believe you're in New York. Just think! In a couple of years, you could be at the New York Times, living like a superstar!"

"I don't think journalists live like superstars, Alls." The New York Times, eh? One could dream.

"So I'm guessing that there won't be any clubbing for a certain Miss Edwards?"

"I said I'm not a superstar, I didn't say I'm boring."

"Great, so when should I schedule my train ticket for a weekend visit with my sistah from another mistah?" Alli giggled, and I couldn't contain my smile.

"Soon, I hope! Just let me get settled in here and you'll be taking a much-needed break from Baltimore before you know it."

This is how life had been for the last four years; Alli and I had hardly gotten to see each other while I was studying journalism at Carleton U and she was kicking ass and taking names at MIT Pre-Med. Somehow, we managed to stay close with as many Skype calls as possible and countless text messages and e-mails.

Our last year of high school had been less than ideal – I didn't get accepted into my dream school after my grades slipped thanks to stupid cancer putting me behind; I was practically running Student Council because my President, and now good friend, Drew, was more interested in parties and macking on the brainless, underage broads of Degrassi; and then my boyfriend and I broke up after I cheated on him with my idiot President in a moment of insanity, though Eli had cheated on me first so I tried justifying it. Unsuccessfully, of course.

"Splendid, because Johns Hopkins is just not the party scene that I've been craving."

"Right, because all of the Dave Turners and Johnny DiMarcos aren't exactly fleeing towards medical schools."

Alli laughed and I could hear her shuffling papers through the speaker. "What happened to rule number one?"

"Never speak of DiMarco," I groaned jokingly. "Though you should probably reconsider that rule since you decide to spread your legs for him every time you head back to Toronto for breaks."

"I plead the fifth."

"You would."

"Agh, I'm going to be so late and it's looking an all-nighter is in the cards for Backwoods, so I'll talk to you later? Text me; let me know how everyone at your office is – especially the attractive ones."

"Will do. Later, Al."

I looked around at my bare apartment, wrinkling my nose at the seemingly endless stacks of cardboard boxes that needed to be unpacked. This is what Adulthood felt like, huh? Fresh out of university, an awesome job opportunity in a city full of nothing _but_ opportunities, and my first apartment . . . to live in all alone.

Maybe I should get a cat.

xxxx

The Daily Apple Accent was not hard to find, although my handy-dandy Maps app likely deserved all of the credit there.

"Clare Edwards! It is so nice to see you again." My Editor in Chief, Liberty Van Zandt beamed at me. Her manicured hand stretched out to shake mine and I felt immediately welcomed. I had only met Liberty once before; she spoke to me at a job fair that I was covering for The Charlatan, my University's independent newspaper. She told me that she respected my moxie and the next thing I knew, she was offering me a columnist position in New York City.

Who was I to refuse?

Two months and multiple video chats with Liberty later, I was graduating from Carleton and making plans for The States. To say that my mother was proud would be entirely understated, but the water works were brought into full blast when she realized that I wouldn't be coming back to Toronto after leaving Ottawa.

"This is so amazing, I really don't know what to say. Thank you for giving me this chance, Ms. Van Zandt."

"Please, Clare, call me Liberty. We're all friends here," and her smile never faltered, not even a little. The door to the conference room we sat in opened quietly and in walked who I presumed to be Boss Man. "Oh, right on time! Toby, this is Clare, our brilliant new journalist. Clare, I'd like you to meet Toby Isaacs, our Publisher.

Boss Man, indeed.

I stood awkwardly and offered Toby Isaacs my hand. "Hi – hello! It's so great to finally meet you."

My new boss smiled warmly at me, shaking my hand politely and taking his seat across from me, next to Liberty Van Zandt – er, Liberty. "I've read your portfolio, Clare – is it okay if I call you Clare?" I nodded. "I've read your portfolio and I'm impressed. It seems as if you can cover everything and you do it seamlessly. I'm really excited to have you on the Accent Team; Liberty only recruits the best."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Isaacs. I'm so appreciative, and I promise I won't let down either of you."

While I sat in that conference room with the two people who were taking a chance on the neurotic, twenty-two year old journalism major from Southern Ontario – when they had a superfluity of brainy, balanced hopefuls from right within their own city limits – I felt an overwhelming surge of belonging.

During the meeting, I was introduced to plenty of other columnists who I would be working with, given a tour of the building and the keys to my office.

My office.

I could get used to that.

Also, I'd been briefed on my first assignment which would be an on-going piece. Evidently, I had been hired to primarily cover the arts which I was absolutely ecstatic about. Theater had always been a second love of mine, mostly due to the fact that my parents tugged Darcy and I along to any and all musicals and dramas that Toronto had to offer when we were kids.

I was covering an original play simply named "Cynical," though I had not yet learned who the director was. It was an off-Broadway show that was expected to put this writer/director on the map, and I would have the chance to interview him or her from the beginning of stardom which was a huge deal to a lowly news newbie in The Big Apple.

Walking down the bustling streets of the city, trying my hardest not to look like a tourist, my phone chimed and I glanced down to see a text message from Rebecca Baker, and I was quickly reminded that she also lived in the city; she had recently graduated from Columbia, the school that rejected me. I wasn't bitter.

_Hey, do you still want to meet for a quick bite? I'd love to catch up with you! -BB_

I smiled fondly. Becky Baker had certainly transformed over the years; she had gone from homophobic New Girl and my ex-boyfriend's arch-enemy, to my best friend's girlfriend, and then she became one of my closest friends, too – along with Imogen, who I missed deeply.

_When and where? I'm on 42nd Street now. Anywhere close?_

xxxx

"You're gonna explode," I laughed in the picturesque twenty-four-hour diner we sat in. "How many milkshakes can you drink?"

"You'd be surprised," Becky answered, slurping up the last bit of her third. "I'm so glad you're here, Clare. Seriously. It's been like a Degrassi reunion around here lately – and I'm loving every second of it!"

My eyebrows rose while I popped a french fry into my mouth. "Degrassi reunion? Who else from our graduating class lives here?" I teased.

Becky's quiet giggle and hand wave almost disguised her sudden look of "oh shit oh shit oh shit."

Almost.

"Oh, well – no one from our class. Do you remember Fiona Coyne? I never met her at Degrassi, but Imogen talked about her incessantly so I added her on Facerange. I saw that she lives in the city, so we, you know, grab dinner sometimes. With friends. Nothing special." She was rambling. And stuttering.

"Wow, three whole people from Degrassi?" I smirked. "Hardly sounds like a reunion."

Becky gulped and averted my gaze, waving the waiter over for a fourth milkshake – vanilla, this time.

"Anyway! I bet you're dying to start at the Accent," she slid gracefully into a new subject. "What column are you writing for – did they place you yet?"

My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. "I did and you're gonna love this. I get to cover the arts!" The two of us squealed in our booth, Becky reaching over to squeeze my shoulders.

"Clare, that's awesome! If you ever need a date to a show, I'm your girl," she smiled in a way that was so Becky. I always admired her love for drama – I mean that theatrically, not literally. Her personal drama, I could have done without.

But that was the past.

I was elated to have a friend like Rebecca Baker here with me during all of the new craziness in my life. I made a mental note to send Fiona an e-mail so that we could catch up as well.

"Seriously, I get to watch musicals and plays and talk to brilliant writers for _my job_. I thought for sure that my first assignment at The Daily Apple Accent would be boring editorials or book reviews, not something so exciting."

"You deserve it, though. You worked hard for this."

I did, didn't I?

"Yeah, it's just unreal. It blows my mind that high school was four years ago. Things changed so fast. We're like . . . adults now." We both laughed quietly. "That's scary stuff, Becks."

"Agreed," she nodded. "So what's your first piece? I've been too busy with work, lately, so I really couldn't even tell you what's playing right now."

"Uh, I don't know much about it yet." I bit my lip, trying to remember the name of the play I would be covering. "'Cynical'! It's called 'Cynical.'" And Becky dropped her spoon into her milkshake glass but I chalked it up to clumsiness and continued. "It's apparently in the early stages of production and it won't be playing for another few months. My editor is setting up a meeting with the director sometime next week. I don't even know who she is," I chuckled, embarrassed that I couldn't offer more elaboration on my project.

"He," Becky whispered, barley audible.

"Sorry?"

"He," she repeated, still quiet. "You don't know who _he _is. But I do."

**Please review, favorite or follow. Something to show that you want me to continue. **

**Thanks for reading! -CK**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews and follows! You guys are sweet. I hope you continue to love GBB, and I promise that I am putting my all into this; I won't let you down. **

**We meet a cute playwright in this chapter, btw. Totes exciting.**

_**I don't own Degrassi. I wish I owned Munro, or he owned me. **_

**Onward. **

"You don't know who _he_ is. But I do."

Becky swallowed nervously and avoided eye contact with me.

"Spit it out, Becks." I had this dull ache in my stomach but I couldn't quite peg the reason. Maybe I was just unsettled by the usually perky girl's sudden moment of uncertainty. It wasn't like Becky to be so, so _hesitant_.

"Clare . . . " she stammered. "Clare, it's – it's Eli. Eli is the writer and director of 'Cynical'."

Well.

I'll take _Blast From the Past _for five-hundred.

Sanity had escaped me, and all that I could think about were how his green eyes pierced into my blue ones, how his dark curls would tickle my face while he leaned over me and kissed the sensitive spots on my neck, how his hands and his tongue knew my body better than I ever did and how his voice gave out in a gravelly husk when he would tell me that he loved me.

I didn't know how else to react and frankly, part of me couldn't believe the peppy blonde. And I may have laughed a little. Only a little, though.

Becky gaped at me. "Oh, we're laughing now, okay. That's not weird."

"Didn't Eli graduate last year? Why is he still in New York?"

I couldn't shake the feeling that the universe was playing some dark, twisted joke on me. I was kind of pissed, but not entirely convinced that this was real life. I hadn't seen the guy in four years and now I had to interview him for my first freaking project as a professional journalist?

I laughed again, louder this time.

"Clare, people are starting to look at us," she muttered from the side of her mouth in a sing-song tone.

Glancing around me, I realized she was right and I took a long drink from my lemon water. "Eli Goldsworthy?" I asked, keeping my voice calm this time. Becks nodded. "Eli Goldsworthy," I stated this time, not a question. "Great."

"Don't be like that."

"What am I being like, exactly?"

"You know . . . judgy."

"Ha! You're one to accuse someone of being judgmental." Becky visibly flinched and I invisibly shoved my foot into my mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

"I know," she accepted. "It's okay. It's just that, well, I don't know. We're friends now, Eli and me. I actually hang out with him and Fiona a lot – at least once a week. He's doing well, Clare, and the way that things ended between you two, just – are you sure you can do this? How do you think it'll be to have to interview him and work closely with him for the next few months?"

The next few months . . .

"That's a valid question, Becky Baker, and I do not have an answer for you." I couldn't stop picking at my napkin.

Ridiculous.

"Maybe you guys should, like, meet up. You know, before the interview process? It could make the transition easier, less awkward." I cocked an eyebrow at my overly-positive friend.

"How the hell should I go about that? He doesn't even know that I'm going to be the one covering his play. He doesn't know anything about me; we're complete strangers now."

"I wouldn't say he doesn't know _anything _about you," Becky offered weakly. Noting my pointed stare, she added, "I told you that I see him often. You've come up on occasion . . . Don't you look at me like that, Clare Edwards! I mean, come on! When I found out you were moving to New York, I was ecstatic that I'd have another close friend from home with me. I told Eli and Fiona at lunch one day, and he's kept tabs on you ever since."

Wait, what?

"Eli's _kept tabs _on me?"

"Well, that sounds bad. Not like that, no. But he asks about you, sure. He even told me to tell you congratulations on your graduation, but I couldn't work up the nerve. He's proud of you, Clare. . ."

Again: what?

"I'm still so completely mind-fucked right now, I can hardly form a sentence." I bit my lip and tried to ignore Becky's indiscreet sour face when I dropped the "F bomb," as she calls it. "What's he doing in New York? Eli's a film major; I thought he'd be in LA by now, working his way up the Hollywood Ladder of Movie Magic."

Becky nodded and folded her dainty hands on the retro table top. "He was going to, but then his girlfriend convinced him to stay another year and wait for her graduation. He figured he would just pick up whatever job he could, but then a producer contacted him after receiving a recommendation from one of Eli's professors and he was offered a pretty amazing spot in theater production. That's where he's been for the last year or so."

Don't do it. Do not ask what you're thinking about asking.

"Girlfriend?"

You had one job.

"That's the only part you retained, Clare?" she asked with a raised brow. "They broke up. It wasn't a big deal, though. They had only been together for a short period when she asked him to stay in New York and he agreed – which he didn't hear the end of from Fiona." Becky's eyes darted around nervously and I felt bad for asking about this part of Eli's life, knowing that my poor friend would feel uncomfortable discussing it with me. "Anyway, they split about three months later, once he'd already secured a job here in the city. It was kind of mutual; they were never really Romeo and Juliet, you know?"

Not like we once were.

"Yeah, I guess," I said, trying to sound uninterested. Trying. "I'm glad he's doing well . . ."

"He's glad you're well, too! Trust me. When I told him that the editor from The Accent practically hired you on the spot before you even graduated, he couldn't stop gushing about how he knew you would take over the journalism world one day and yadda yadda yadda."

I could feel my cheeks flush and I instantly chastised myself for letting Eli's opinion of me (or my writing, rather) make me feel so girly. I'm sure that Becky didn't miss my blush but she was kind enough to not point it out, bless her soul.

"There's this bar that we like to go to on Saturdays when we're all free . . . "

My eyes widened. No, no, no.

"You should come."

No, no. No, no, no.

"Think about it, Clare. Wouldn't you rather see him in person and break the ice?"

Yes.

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"You're a liar."

"That's mature."

"_That's mature_."

". . . Are we five?"

My beautiful, blonde friend waited patiently for me to stop twiddling my thumbs. After two or three minutes, she rolled her eyes in exasperation and pulled out her phone, unlocked the screen and started to type something that I couldn't see.

"There," she said after another brief moment, locking her screen and setting it face-down on the table. She turned her attention back to her milkshake and didn't give me a second glance.

"Uh, 'there' what?" My face scrunched in confusion. It probably wasn't a cute look.

"I texted Eli and told him that you're going to come tomorrow night," Becky stated, matter-of-factly.

You could practically hear my jaw hit the table.

xxx

After threatening Rebecca Baker's life on multiple occasions and even after throwing a temper tantrum, I learned that none of my ammunition would be influential in my favor. She had an obnoxious brother; she could handle bickering and back-and-forth.

She stood her ground.

Becky had come by early Saturday morning to help me unpack my many boxes so that I could no longer use that excuse as a way out of our evening plans, but I was pleasantly surprised to see a particular Coyne standing next to her when I opened the door to my apartment.

Fiona and I hugged each other and squealed and reminisced and hugged some more while the three of us embarked on the grueling task of unpacking and organizing.

Apparently, being incredibly Type A individuals, we were fully capable of this mission.

By late afternoon, the majority of my belongings were in their respectful places, with the exception of pictures, clocks and art left to be hung and some pieces of furniture that needed to be assembled.

"I do declare that we done good, my ladies," Fiona smiled, sinking into my couch and sipping on sparkling water.

Becky and I agreed and giggled with Fiona, Becky joining her on the couch while I stretched out on my living room floor.

"So now that this is done, we should probably start getting ready," Becky offered, gauging my reaction.

"Do we have to?" I whined dramatically.

Part of me was just positive that this was an awful idea. I hadn't seen Eli since our messy breakup and frankly, I was terrified. It would be hard enough to work with him, but maybe it would be best for us to keep things professional. Drinks on a Saturday night were hardly professional, were they?

The other part of me was far too eager to be in the same room with that man again, and I really wished that part of me would get lost because I just could not deal with that confusion.

"Clare," Fiona said comfortingly. "Don't let this weigh you down. Eli is my best friend; I like to think that I know him pretty well – and I can tell you right now that he harbors no ill feelings towards you and he really just wants you to be happy in life, wherever that takes you."

Becky nodded in consensus, her face bright and cheery next to Fiona's somber yet consoling features.

Fiona sighed and looked to be battling an inner monologue with herself before finally saying, "Do you know what Eli told me after he and Stella broke up?"

Her name was Stella? Lovely.

I shook my head. "No. What?"

"He told me that he felt like a giant ass-face because he couldn't bring himself to be depressed and sulky like you're supposed to be when your relationship plummets, nose first."

"He said 'ass-face?'" Becky interrupted, laughing.

Fiona smirked. "Okay, so it's not verbatim. But he wasn't devastated, which is the point. And when I asked him why he felt so blasé , he told me that he had known from the beginning that Stella was temporary. He told me that until he met a girl who could move him even half as much as you did, Clare, he knew they would all be temporary."

I blinked at her. "Why are you telling me this again?"

"Because, silly! I'm trying to reassure you, because I know you're nervous that he'll be callous or hostile towards you, but this is Eli freaking Goldsworthy we're talking about, and he has nothing but respect and admiration for you."

"So you don't think he'll hate that I'm covering his play?"

"As if!" Becky interjected. "He's thrilled!"

"Wait, you told him?" asked Fiona.

"Yeah, last night. He thinks it's an awesome way for Clare to make a first impression at The Accent and he isn't opposed to the fact that she's a fantastic writer, so his production will be getting the attention that it deserves." Becky flashed her perfect, friendly smile and tilted her head. "See, Clare-bear? You have nothing to worry about."

Suddenly, I was much more comfortable with the idea of seeing Eli again. Relationship-wise, we may not have always been the best, but if there's one thing that we had always done great together, it was writing. So writing about something he'd written – that should be a piece of cake!

"Well, I wouldn't go that far."

Becky and I looked at our lovely brunette friend with question in our eyes.

"There's still the matter of wardrobe."

xxx

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I can't believe I'm here.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

Fiona, Becky and I walked into Mother's Lounge and I knew right away that we were turning heads.

Fiona was wearing this gorgeous navy dress that was so her, it almost made you want to cry. She designed it herself, so it was obviously perfection. It clung tightly to her form but loosened up at the top with a scooping neckline and long, flowing sleeves made out of a sheer fabric that continued down to the fitted cuffs. It was eccentric yet elegant, and very Fiona Celestine Arabella Coyne.

Obviously, Becky was still super conservative but she had learned to embrace a side of herself that could also be sexy and alluring. Her dark jeans almost looked like they had been painted on, and her white blouse definitely exposed some cleavage and was just transparent enough that you could tell she was wearing a red bandeau. She punctuated her attire with some killer red pumps, and Becky Baker was a babe.

When Fiona peaked inside of my closet, I swear she looked like she was preparing herself for tragic disappointment. But my fashion-forward girlfriend seemed thrilled to see that my style had changed drastically and I was no longer Saint Clare with knee-length skirts, collared tops and cardigans; but I now had short shorts, mini dresses and risque footwear – for outside of my professional setting, of course.

Naturally, that lead Fiona and Becks to check out my underwear drawer where Fiona cat-called and whistled at every thong and lacy boyshort she could find.

"Clare Edwards! I didn't know you had it in ya!"

"Yeah," I'd responded with sarcasm. "Did you know that I even wear a bikini now?"

Becky had wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Not a thong, though, right? Because I don't think anyone should wear those on public beaches."

So after applauding my clothing selection, Fiona helped me decide what I would wear that evening while Becky sat on my bed and played games on my laptop.

We had settled on white, high-waisted shorts that I'm almost positive gave show to a little cheek – though Becky and Fiona promised that you couldn't see anything, Scout's honor – with a long-sleeved, baby blue button-down. The shirt was made out of a sheer material, similar to Fiona's dress, which made it fit loosely, and I loved it. Deciding to live dangerously, I kept my top three buttons undone and added a bright yellow belt and matching sandal wedges.

My hair cascaded to the middle of my back, the longest it had been since grade nine – except now I knew about styling products and my curls were tame instead of frizzy and Catholic School Chic.

Despite the fact that I was twenty-two years old, walking into a bar in New York City with Fiona and Becky was the first time that I had truly felt like an adult woman. Probably because I'd spent the last four years studying and going to frat parties instead of bars, but it was college so I guess that was expected.

Still, I felt different.

And I liked it.

But as I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror walking into Mother's, I almost made an about-face and hauled ass back to my safe, sans-Eli apartment. This was a very sexy version of Clare that Eli never really got to meet; I was always so timid, even after we had taken our relationship to a sexual level.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I whispered, out loud this time.

Becky linked her arm through mine and bumped my shoulder. "Stop stressing out! It'll be fine."

"Oh, there he is! Looks like JJ is with him."

The two of us followed Fiona to the far corner of the bar where there was a section of booths and high-top tables. I couldn't feel my legs and my stomach was turning vigorously but Becky knew to hold on tight and lead the way.

That girl is getting diamonds for Christmas.

Before I had time to run away, I was standing next to Eli Goldsworthy who was sitting on a bar stool at a round table.

His green eyes met mine in a moment of familiarity that was fucking _palpable_, I swear to God.

"Clare," he said quietly. I could feel his eyes break contact with mine and travel down my body, inspecting the outfit that I'm sure surprised the hell out of him. "You, uh, you're here."

"I'm here," I offered lamely.

You're here.

You're here?

What kind of hello is that?

Then he dazzled me with his shy smile and licked his lips quickly, which only served to dazzle me further. "Sorry, I just can't believe you're actually here, in the same city as me – let alone the same bar. Here, sit!" He stammered adorably, patting the empty bar stool next to him and I hopped onto it, trying my hardest to not make things awkward by falling down.

Eli kept smiling at me like he wanted to say something, but remained silent while Fiona and Becky took their seats around the table. The guy next to Eli (JJ?) stared at me like a zoo animal and I tapped my fingers on the table to keep myself entertained.

"It's really good to see you, Clare. You look great – you look, amazing."

Fiona grinned devilishly across from Eli. "Yes, Eli, we can all see that Saint Clare is a certified fox when she ditches the church clothes," she teased and I swear that I could feel my face turn bright red.

Eli chuckled and nodded his head, taking a long sip of whatever was in his glass.

"You never mentioned your high-school sweetheart was such a knockout, you lucky bastard." The strange friend of Eli's didn't waste much time before making me feel really freaking weird, but Becky and Fiona just laughed, obviously in-tune with JJ and his personality.

"Don't mind him. He's harmless, just has no filter," Eli whispered, leaning slightly into me. I held my breath when I saw the skin of his chest that peaked from under his black v-neck – skin I hadn't seen since the last time I'd rolled around with him in his childhood bed.

"I have a filter, I just use it to block out ugly chicks."

"I was talking about a _verbal_ filter, dumbass."

"Oh. Fuck that. But seriously, Clare, you're smokin' hot. Now the whole long-distance thing makes more sense – I wouldn't wanna stop tappin' that, either." My jaw dropped, along with the girls', while Eli just swore under his breath and hung his head in shame.

A waitress stalked over to our table and asked Becky, Fiona and I what we'd like to drink.

"Washington apple."

"Virgin daiquiri, strawberry."

"Tequila sunrise, thanks," I answered.

"I'll take a shot at the journalist," JJ snickered.

All four of us, five if you include the waitress, glared at JJ.

"The drink, people! The journalist cocktail. What, you don't like gin?" His smile was disgustingly sweet and he blew a kiss at Eli.

Jesus.

"Actually, could you make mine a double?" I asked and Fiona couldn't help her dainty laugh, knowing good and well that I was going to need the extra shot to deal with the stress of this evening.

Our waitress skipped off to fetch our drinks and JJ nudged Eli. "So, pray tell, Elijah Goldsworthy – you would know. _Does _tequila make her clothes fall off?"

I leaned over the table, acutely aware that I was now invading Eli's personal space. "I can _hear _you, Captain Subtly."

When Eli spoke, his hot breath hit my neck and it was only then that I realized just how close to him I was. "JJ has many qualities: subtly is not one of them," he shared lightly. I blushed and scrambled to sit back on my own stool, hating myself for practically bending over his lap.

"I'm a pest," JJ admitted with faux shame, covering his face with his large hands.

I let myself smile and glanced at Becky and Fiona, while directing my question to Eli. "I see. How'd you find such a pest, Eli?"

Eli stared at me for longer than necessary, his sexy smirk in place, never failing. Just as I started to feel a rolling heat in my stomach under his gaze, he explained that JJ was his Freshman year roommate – to which I derisively wanted to ask, "_What about Lenore?_" but I held my tongue, ultimately deciding that my cold humor wouldn't be appreciated.

After a round of drinks and small talk, Eli poked my ribcage. "This is weird, drinking with you. You never drank in high school."

My slow grin mirrored his and I was thankful that I'd ordered a double shot in my first drink – I felt much more confident.

"People change, I guess."

"I can see that. You've definitely changed, a lot."

His eyes roamed my body again, but I noticed that this time, he didn't seem shy about it.

"And to think, I'd probably still be sweet Saint Clare had I kept my purity vow."

Eli sputtered while he tried to swallow his scotch, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"I never thought you were that sweet," he whispered after his recovery.

"You weren't wrong," I answered, coyly.

And with that, he nodded and turned to the rest of the table, jumping back into the conversation that had continued without us. But for the rest of the night, I was hyper-aware of the flirtatious glances and borderline-inappropriate commentary coming from the green-eyed boy who once held my heart in the palm of his hand.

Now we were thrown into a situation where we ultimately had reintroduce ourselves and reconnect; while my inner Saint Clare was scared shitless by this, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was a definite sexual pull between us at that round table, and that could make a professional partnership all the more difficult.

And enticing.

**Please, review, favorite or follow. Something to show that you want me to continue. **

**Thank you for reading! -CK**


	3. Chapter 3

**I own nothing. My ideas are generic, truly. Thanks for sticking around despite that fact.**

**Enjoy, darlings. **

_I'm late!_

I weaved in and out of New York natives and tourists alike, rushing to the Titania as quickly as I could – though, to be fair, my barely-broken-in heels made it excruciatingly problematic.

"Watch it, lady!"

"Sorry! So sorry!"

It was a cloudy, windy Monday afternoon which made the task of punctuality all the more difficult. My co-worker, a girl named Eleanor Nash, had given me directions to the theater where Eli would be producing, and eventually debuting, 'Cynical'. During the course of rehearsals I would be scheduled to visit biweekly for interviews with not only the director himself, but also with the actors and tech crew.

_I'm late, for a very important date! _

I eyed the directions once more.

Right at the Starbucks.

Right at the Starbucks?!

There's a Starbucks on every other goddamn block!

"Damn, baby, slow down! How'm I supposed to get your number when you're running by like that?"

"Dream on, Rico Suave."

_No time to say "hello" - goodbye! _

I pushed past the idiot who looked like he got stuck in the nineties with his baggy pants, durag and – was that a wallet chain? Rushing through the thick crowd while opening the GPS app on my phone with a latte in the other hand, I glanced up and felt a wave of relief.

Oh, _that _Starbucks.

Thank God, I'm almost there.

"Get out of the way!"

New Yorkers, so damn friendly.

_I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!_

xxx

Watching Eli in his element was in equal parts magnificent and overwhelming. Nostalgia enveloped me in a way that I was not expecting; I was entranced by the way that Eli captured his actors and crew members, the way that his voice filled the room like a thick, sweet smoke, and how his jaw tensed and relaxed while he worked out a perplexing segment.

I was also not opposed to how nicely his charcoal v-neck and low-slung, black jeans seemed to be fitting him.

Oh, boy.

Trouble was imminent – that much was obvious. I was completely incapable of sitting back and focusing on the play because all I could focus on was Eli's back and shoulder muscles dancing under his shirt.

I needed a distraction.

"You're drooling."

God?

I whipped around to see a handsome boy with short, yet stylish, dark brown hair. He was sitting in the chair directly behind mine, a leather messenger bag slung casually over his lap. I couldn't help but smile at him because his own was simply contagious.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm here a little early for rehearsal. Are you the journalist?"

"I am," I answered, a polite smile on my face as my hand extended out to reach his. I could hear Eli behind me, reiterating lighting instructions and staging cues while I remained awkwardly twisted in my seat to face my new companion. "Clare Edwards, Daily Apple Accent."

"Marco Del Rossi," his handshake was firm but very warm, friendly.

"Del Rossi! You're the lead, aren't you?" I'd remembered Eli mentioning his lead's name once while we were out on Saturday night. His excited nod was enough of an answer for me and I instinctively reached for my tape recorder. "May I?" I asked, eyebrows raised, motioning to the device.

"Of course, yeah!"

My first interview.

And it was completely unplanned, as I was only really scheduled to watch today and interview Eli tomorrow.

Time to pull some questions out of your ass, Edwards.

"Awesome, thanks!" My thumb pressed the red button on my recorder. Click. "I guess we'll start with some basic getting-to-know-you bits. Tell me, Marco, what inspired you to become an actor?"

"Well, you could probably say that I've always been fascinated by acting. I was just a kid when I started watching very mature films for my age – Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I remember just watching and being struck by how devoted the actors were to the portrayal of their characters. It was an art that I had already recognized as timeless, even if I was only ten or so."

"Timeless?"

"Yeah, in the way that, I knew acting would always be acting and classics would always be classics. In fifty years, people will still talk about American History X. They'll still talk about Pretty Woman and they'll still talk about The Breakfast Club because the acting and the writing and the directing – it was all art that will never die."

"Agreed," I nodded, smiling. "Fantastic movies, by the way. So what drew you to theater as opposed to film?"

Marco's smile grew even wider and his cheeks flushed adorably. "I was a junior in high school and I thought, 'What the hell! I've always wanted to try acting, I might as well audition for the school play.' Anyway, the audition was traumatizing because it was a musical and I had zero experience in the music department – as far as I knew, I was tone deaf. But proving to myself that I could do it was so, so important and I gave it my all. I was cast as Tom in 'Rent' and that was just the beginning of this love affair that I have with theater!" After a brief moment and a slight laugh, he added, "I prefer non-musical shows, though. I'm truly not the best singer."

"Clare, you've met Marco!" Eli looked ecstatic, getting comfortable in the chair next to me, turning so that he could easily face the two of us. "You stealing my interview time, Del Rossi?" he teased.

"It isn't your interview time," I corrected. "You're mine tomorrow, though."

Really? Did you _have _to word it that way?

Eli's eyebrow raised but he kept his smart ass remarks to himself, so I was thankful.

"Well," Marco chuckled, "I couldn't pass up the chance to meet the famous ex-girlfriend." His knowing grin made me blush.

"You mean 'infamous'," I recovered, glancing at Eli. "You told him?"

Eli said nothing and instead shrugged his shoulders and lifted one side of his mouth in a sinfully attractive smirk. I hated that I had to look away, partly because he was pretty to look at and partly because I knew that he knew what he was doing to me. You know?

"Is it weird, spending all this time together?"

My eyes met Marco's and I didn't hesitate for even a moment.

"Weird? Nah. It's comforting, I think."

"I told her to stop thinking years ago. Always scary."

I playfully punched Eli in the arm and he laughed, flicking me in the forehead.

"Wow. Haven't missed a beat, huh? You two _are _cute," Marco said with mock disgust, standing from his chair and walking away from us, towards the wing of the stage. "It was so nice meeting you, Clare. We'll have to get together some time! My boyfriend's from Toronto, so he'll love to have someone other than Eli to talk maple syrup and hockey with."

"Ouch," Eli pouted. "There's so much more to Canada!"

"Yeah, like ketchup chips," I offered.

"And the metric system!"

"Sold!" Marco laughed. "You guys have turned me Canadian."

"Eh?"

"Overkill, Eli," I winked.

"What_ever_, loser. Marco, you wanna tell Manny and everyone else to start warming up? I wanna get on the ball within the next ten minutes."

"Sure thing, cap'n." With a final smile and wave in my direction, Marco Del Rossi marched up the steps on the side of the stage and disappeared behind the wing.

Once he seemed sure that we were alone, Eli turned to face me and his expression matched that of the teenaged Eli who looked at me with all of the mystery and love and adventure in the world, captured strategically in one simple look – a look that he kept stowed away for me and only me.

I hope.

"Well, Edwards."

"Well, Goldsworthy."

Mischief glimmered in his eye.

"Stick around after rehearsal? Let's grab coffee."

"Central Perk?"

Eli's brows furrowed. "Central Perk? Clare, you know that's not a real –"

"– I was _kidding_," I interjected. He smiled brilliantly. "Coffee, huh? Is that, I don't know, standard?"

He bit his lip and tried not to smile while he turned to avert my gaze. A coy grin crept onto my lips; squirmy Eli was my favorite.

"If by 'standard' you're asking if I take every journalist out to coffee, the answer's no." His final word was well punctuated with raised eyebrows and his dark, forest eyes boring into my blues. "Not that it would matter, seeing as _this _journalist was lit up like a Christmas tree the other night. That's hardly standard."

I gaped at him. "I was not that bad! It's been a while since I've – whatever. I needed it; call it 'drinking under pressure.'" We both chuckled, my face getting hot which was only super effing embarrassing.

"So, coffee?"

"I suppose I can fit you in."

Eli blinked at me. "I'm gonna go before I say something insanely inappropriate."

My jaw dropped again and he laughed while he stood up, heading towards the stage in the same direction that Marco had gone just minutes before. "You're a sick man, Elijah."

He turned to walk backwards for a few steps, winking at me and flashing the sexiest smirk that nearly made my panties slide right off.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

xxx

"This sucks," I groaned dramatically. We stood just outside of the coffee shop's main entrance, kept dry only by the puny awning. The thunder rolled menacingly, echoing down the streets of the city, magnified by the skyscrapers. Everything was loud, actually – especially the downpour.

The air was thick and humid, leaving a dewy sheen on my exposed skin.

"Let's get a cab," Eli offered, "and go to my apartment." Noticing my pointed look, he added, "To drink our lattes and catch up, _Clare –_ Scout's Honor." He motioned to his latte and took a quick sip, wincing as the liquid burnt his tongue.

"You were never a Boy Scout," I dead-panned.

"You were never against coffee and conversation."

I agreed, though I made a show of skepticism and hesitancy that, in reality, didn't really exist. If I were to be honest with myself, I'd have to admit that I was more than excited to see Eli's apartment. That thought alone was enough to scare me, and I couldn't let Eli know.

We were supposed to be professional.

"Fine, but when the storm is over, it's your duty to walk me home like a gentleman."

"We both know I'd never let you walk home alone at night. Come on," he answered honestly while flagging down a taxi.

It was easy to look out of the window and get lost in the New York State of Mind. This was a city that stopped for nothing, not even inclement weather. I saw students, parents, free-spirits; I saw everything and they just knew where they belonged. They knew where they were going.

I was going to my ex-boyfriend's apartment.

But I couldn't muster up any feeling of dissatisfaction or disappointment – I was more than willing to take the path I was on. What scared me was the other type of person I saw outside in the New York rain: the wanderer. Sure, NYC was full of business elites and socialite hopefuls but amongst the pencil skirts and Coach umbrellas, I also spotted more than a few people who walked with less pep in their steps, unaffected by their soggy shoes and smeared makeup; they had less life in their eyes.

This city could be the place that I blossomed into the successful journalist I had only dreamed about since I was a little girl.

Or it could be the place that I let an old flame ignite into something I could no longer control, and I could lose everything I'd dreamed of before ever even obtaining it.

I didn't want to walk through the city by myself in the pouring rain, like some Avril Lavigne cliché.

"Look at you," Eli mused. "You love it here, don't you?"

My head snapped around so that I was facing Eli in the backseat of the cab and my breath caught in my throat. He gazed at me from under this thick lashes and it was so familiar and warm and _home_,even though home was almost five-hundred miles away.

Suddenly, I'd forgotten about the lonely wanderers on the sidewalk and I'd forgotten about the blue-blood elect and I'd forgotten all about the Journalism degree hanging on my office wall. All I could remember from the entire history of forever was this complex, outstanding man sitting beside me who – despite everything that we'd been through together – still wanted to be my friend.

"What's not to love?" I smiled.

The double meaning was not lost on me. Though judging by his lack of response, it was certainly lost on Eli.

The drive to his apartment took about twenty minutes, but it would have been significantly shorter if it weren't for the rain slowing everything down in the streets

When we walked through the front door, I stepped in ahead of Eli and felt the involuntary smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I knew that he was hanging back behind me, probably embarrassed and waiting to gauge my reaction. But I had no words to express how proud I was; he had grown up in every way.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I teased, turning to tilt my head and purse my lips at him. "This doesn't look like the home of a hoarder to me."

"Oh, I'm sure. My people make sure I don't let the piles get too high."

My eyes widened. "People? Piles?"

"Joking, Clare," Eli exasperated. "Nah, I mean, I still have – I don't know, _tendencies_. But I try to control myself."

I spun around to take in my surroundings once more. His couch was dark chocolate leather with a matching recliner. There was a book shelf that was practically overflowing to the right of the sofa and on the wall, a massive television with an entertainment shelf underneath.

True to New York City normalcy, the apartment was tiny – though, still larger than mine – but I was impressed by Eli's ability to make it his own. It was no Ikea catalog piece but it was still mature and very Eli. Not a single sign of hoarding tendency was spotted, at least not in the living room or kitchen.

To my surprise, the framed Scarface poster above his couch was overwhelmingly welcoming.

Eli, always the charmer, helped me out of my light coat and hung it on a hook behind his front door, quickly slinging his own next to it – it was an odd sight, my bright pink and yellow coat next to his typical black denim.

Well, I suppose to anyone else it would have been an odd sight. To me, it was natural, really. We'd always been so perfectly different.

Our coffees had been finished since we were in the taxi, so Eli went into his kitchen and brought out two bottled beers, handing one to me with question in his eyes. "I don't know if you drink Sam Adams but besides orange juice and tap water, this is all I have right now. And I know how your heartburn gets –"

"Actually," I jumped in, taking the beer from him while he sat next to me on his couch, "I'm on medication for the heartburn thing, so it isn't much of a problem now. But I still prefer this over OJ."

We smiled at each other for a quick moment before opening our drinks and facing the wall ahead of us. The TV was off and I could hear the rain and the traffic from his closed window; I could also hear Eli's fingers tapping strategically on his thigh, a common symptom of his OCD.

I glanced at his leg and his long fingers stopped their motion.

"Sorry," he murmured before taking a long pull of his drink. "Is this awkward? I feel like this is awkward."

I laughed. "It is, kinda. Yeah." I mimicked his actions, wrapping my lips around the bottle and gulping the liquid down. I could feel him staring at me and I couldn't help but lick my lips and rub them together while I leaned over to set my bottle on the floor by my feet.

"It doesn't have to be, though. Let's break the ice," Eli suggested hopefully. I couldn't help but to remember that day in the courtyard, before the Frostival that inevitably brought us back together.

When I spilled cauliflower soup on his crotch.

Ugh.

"Ice breaker. I'm down. Let's do it."

His brow raised again at my suggestive wording.

"We all know you're a fan of doing it."

From my cheeks, down to my neck turned crimson and I bowed my head in embarrassment while he chuckled, pleased with himself. "Ice breaker, you ass. Sex talk will not help alleviate the awkwardness." He laughed harder and apologized, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

"Okay, well . . . How was university for you? I never knew you were interested in Carleton – your mom must have been stoked; that's an awesome school."

"I wouldn't say that I was necessarily interested in Carleton. But to be fair, I wasn't interested in anywhere but Columbia." I paused to read his expression because he and I both knew that I only wanted Columbia as badly as I did for the sake of our relationship. "But I guess when I got rejected, I was forced to consider other options. I loved it at CU, though, and I couldn't have asked for a better experience."

"I still can't believe you didn't get accepted to Columbia," Eli thought out loud.

"What's not to believe? I fell behind my senior year. I mean, I still had great grades –"

"– You were valedictorian. You had an A average. It doesn't make sense."

"To CU, I was a great candidate. But Columbia was out-of-country. They weren't going to give grants and scholarships to a 'great' student, they were looking for perfection. Senior year wasn't my finest hour."

"But you had cancer," he rebutted, matter-of-factly.

"They didn't know that."

Eli's head snapped up, his handsome face contorted with confusion. "What do you mean? You told me you wrote about your treatment and remission for your college essays."

I sighed, taking another long pull from my beer. "Yeah, well. I lied. What? Don't start, Eli. Look, it was hard enough to go through once – I didn't really want to relive it for the sake of scholarship money. Plus," I mumbled, "I didn't wanna be the, the poor girl with cancer; the one everyone felt bad for."

Eli's features softened again and he reached out to squeeze my bare knee quickly but warmly before returning his hand to his lap.

"Anyway, it worked out. I still got into an amazing school, kicked ass and landed an out-of-this-world job opportunity – and all without mentioning the C-word to help me out even once. I'd say that's a victory."

"I'd say so, too," Eli smiled.

Our eyes locked passionately and I suddenly felt naked in front of him. How could I be so drawn to someone while talking about university and _cancer_, for fuck's sake? All I knew was that his hand was on my knee for all of three seconds but my knee was still burning and my thighs were clenched tightly together underneath my black skirt and his five o'clock shadow made him look incredible and we were leaning in towards each other.

I felt his breath on my lips and his nose was just a fraction of a centimeter from my own.

Panic.

"So! What about you?" I asked, straightening up with a plastic smile plastered on my stupid face. "Was NYU everything you were expecting?" Eli gulped and polished off his beer, sitting it on the ground while I used the opportunity to discreetly scoot away from him – not that there was much of a place to go on his small sofa.

"Sure, it was – uh. It was pretty fantastic." He answered my question but his voice sounded dull and his face showed an emotion I couldn't quite peg. Annoyance? Disappointment?

"Aw, that's it?" I persisted, feigning excitement and interest – not that I was uninterested in Eli, my mind was just on other things.

Specifically, his lips.

"What about Lenore? Did you two ever become a – a _thing_."

His eyes pierced into mine darkly as soon as I said her name.

Nice, Clare.

"Seriously?" Eli asked, obviously irritated.

I groaned. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to be that kind of question – I just panicked and – well, you know I have word vomit." His eyes lightened and his jaw relaxed.

"Well, no," he sighed. "We were always better as friends. I still keep in touch with her, but nothing else ever happened. How's Drew?"

I flinched. "Okay. I deserved that. Feel better?"

"Clare," Eli said huskily.

I gulped and turned my shoulders to square them with his. He seemed so much larger than he did four years ago – not larger as in fat, but in the way that his muscles were much more defined than before. His shoulders and chest were chiseled and I could see the contours from under his thin shirt.

My gaze shakily raised to meet his and his eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them.

"Eli." I knew where this was going.

"I'm gonna kiss you." He wasn't asking.

"Thank God." I wasn't arguing.

This wasn't a typical Clare and Eli kiss. Something about it was lustier, hungrier. His hands were twisted in my long hair and mine clawed at his strong back, sliding under his offensive shirt. Within seconds, he was laying back with me straddling his hips and the moment that his mouth latched onto the spot just below my ear, I knew I was in trouble.

The man knew everything about me and even after all of this time, I could feel myself getting lost in him.

My vision was clouded. All I could see was Eli – his hard stomach and chest, his broad shoulders and hips, how his adam's apple bobbed and how his tongue darted out to lick my lips swiftly before pushing its way into my mouth to massage mine.

By the time we'd rolled to the floor, his body towering over my own, I was mesmerized by his glistening skin and his dark hair, stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead. It would be easy to say that everything was familiar, but some parts were even better than I'd remembered.

Like the way I'd felt when his teeth sunk into my collarbone and _he _sunk into me.

**I'm sorry that this took so long to post. I've been going through a lot lately (my grandmother may have cancer) but I've been trying like hell to get this finished for you all. As usual, please review and/or favorite to let me know that you would like me to continue. Your support is greatly appreciated. **

**Till next time. **


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